Storm Watching
by Lucinda
Summary: Wesley moves to Bayville, and then things get... interesting. AU post BtVS season 3, crossover with X-Men: Evolution. Complete.
1. parts 1 and 2

Storm Watching  
  
author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main character: Wesley  
  
pairing: Wesley/Storm, eventually  
  
disclaimer: Wesley belong to Joss Whedon. Ororo Munroe(Storm) belongs to the Stan Lee of Marvel Comics, although the incarnation is closer to the X-Men: Evolution cartoon.  
  
distribution: Cat, Twisting, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
response to the TNL scenario 64) Give Wesley a woman. With his crush on Fred, and his destructive relationship with Lilah, the poor man's been alone too long. Any pairing is possible... suggestions Wes/Eowyn, Wes/Storm, Wes/Anita, Wes/Amanda, Wes/Janette, Wes/Urs.   
  
note: AU post Graduation for BtVS, set in the world of X-Men Evolution.  
  
  
  
  
  
He first saw her by chance, looking out a window at just the right time to see one of the local students talking to her. She was... beautiful, with flowing white hair that would have looked out of place on anyone else, but somehow, on her it was natural, perfect. She was wearing something soft, blue and flowing, with gleaming bits of silver at her wrists. For the first time, he understood the urge to write poetry for a woman. Of course, Wesley Wyndham Price was no poet, so he resisted the desire to put pen to paper and let a flow of words try to describe her in meter and verse.  
  
Granted, his writings in his journal were a bit overly flowery, but nobody would be looking at those. It wasn't like he was the watcher of an active Slayer, after all. Faith had been in a coma for almost a month before slipping away, and to this day, he wasn't entirely certain that it had been natural. There could have been some interference from the Council, a subtle way to quietly remove Faith in the hopes of gaining a more pliable Slayer elsewhere. He'd left Sunnydale after that, but he couldn't bear to return to England, to face his family. He'd stopped in New England, and was now the owner of a bookstore in a pleasant little town called Bayville. It had two high schools, and only five cemeteries in all, two of which were the tiny, old resting places of the century past. There didn't appear to be any local vampire or demon problem at all, which meant that he had very little to do as a Watcher.  
  
Wesley assumed that he'd never see her again. The boy that she was talking too was not particularly scholarly, more inclined to trying stunts on his skateboard than frequenting bookstores. And he couldn't pin his hopes on such a vision just happening to drop into his store. Wesley tried to resign himself to not seeing the woman again.  
  
The second time that he saw her, he wasn't quite certain if he was awake or dreaming. There were howling winds, and lightning, and red blasts of light. She was out there, hanging in the air, suspended by the winds, looking simply... indescribable. Like a goddess, or the embodiment of the winds, perhaps. She was breathtaking, and he simply stood there, watching entranced. Mutants were fighting other mutants that night, and he had no idea why, or who among them might be the heroes. He wanted to believe that she was, but he didn't know. He didn't really know anything about the balance of local power, the views and practices regarding mutants.  
  
Perhaps it was time for a bit of research.  
  
Researching mutants was... not the same at all as researching obscure demons or elemental spirits. He almost felt like he was drowning in a sea of... mostly useless things. People's websites where they spouted their personal views on mutants, newspaper articles on mutants whose powers were out of control, or mutant criminals, or scientificly indecipherable medical papers on the genetics or physiology of mutation. Slowly, he managed to establish a clearer idea, to get a grasp on the broader world view of mutants. It had never been important before, he'd always worried more about demons and vampires and Council tradition. But he didn't live for the Council now, he lived... for himself, in this world. A world with mutants, not just somewhere in the countryside, but right here in Bayville.  
  
Wesley had the suspicion that mutants could be dangerous. Maybe not all of them, and maybe they didn't go around eviscerating humans to gestate their larvae inside the corpses, but... well, he was actually quite glad of that, but still. He'd found stories about Magneto, and a Sabertooth, and a Green Goblin who wasn't actually anything like a goblin at all, and a person called the Lizard... All of them sounded clearly and appallingly dangerous. And he'd found hundreds of stories about uncontrolled or out of control mutations causing property damage and injuries.  
  
But there was something else that was bothering him. He'd seen part of what had to have been a battle between mutants, with that glorious goddess of a woman hanging in the air, and nothing had been said about it. It hadn't made the local news. It hadn't been in the papers, or rather, there had only been a mention of 'a severe windstorm last night'. It reminded him a bit of the way the residents of Sunnydale had persistently and enthusiastically denied anything supernatural was occurring. 'Gas leaks' and 'gang members on PCP' and 'neck ruptures' were used there to disguise the truth. Were these 'windstorms' and 'cases of vandalism of public property' the Bayville version of denial?  
  
The glorious woman was a mutant, most likely. It seemed far more plausible than the idea that she was truly a goddess, or an elemental spirit. Of course, it still left him watching from afar for a glimpse of her, not even knowing her name. Really, it was a rather miserable position to be in.  
  
end part 1.  
  
The pattern continued for several weeks. Wesley caught a few more glimpses of her, learning that she seemed to have some connection with a few more people that looked like high school students. There was a somber looking young man who was always in red sunglasses, and a red haired girl. There was the skateboarding boy with the yellow hair shaved into stripes, and the dark haired joking boy with a German accent named Kurt, and Kitty, a cheerful girl. Kitty and Kurt were in the store occasionally, with Kitty looking for assorted obscure volumes of poetry, and Kurt buying volumes in German. They both seemed like fairly nice children.   
  
He'd managed to learn from hearing bits of their conversations that they had extra classes from a private tutor, classes that apparently were unrelated to their school. The skateboarder was called Spike, and he lived with his aunt, Ororo, who had to be the glorious airborne goddess that he'd seen. For a while, he envied them for that. They might be young, with little idea of what they wanted to do with their lives, but they got to see Her on a regular basis. He managed to control his irrational emotions, reasoning that it served no point to be jealous of the fact that a pair of teenagers got to spend time with Ororo. Although he did wonder if he could find out what she taught, and arrange for a bit of study in that area...  
  
Truly, he didn't really expect anything to actually change that pattern. No sudden burst of courage causing him to find her and pour out his feeling, no sudden arrival of her, breathless and hopeful at his doorstep... Actually, he didn't even know if she knew he existed. And he really doubted that she would need him to save her from an attacking vampire or demon. Ororo seemed far to capable to need rescued. Which left him... exactly where he'd always been, where he seemed destined to be. On the sidelines, watching life pass by.  
  
What Wesley didn't count on was the fact that life has a curious way of disrupting even the most simple plans. His plans, Ororo's plans, those of her friends and the children that associated with her. Wesley only knew that when Kurt came in to the store on a glorious Saturday morning, he looked... miserable. His head was hanging, and he was shuffling his feet, and just seemed lost into a dark cloud. He barely moved around the few other customers, his hands brushing listlessly over the spines of the German books.  
  
"Kurt? Is something... wrong?" He tried to say something, ignoring the fact that he had no formal cause to interfere, no clue what the matter was. But he'd spent his life learning how to try to help, and he just couldn't stand by and watch the boy suffer. Not without trying.  
  
"Ja... but it is... complicated. I don't know what anyone could do to help." Kurt's voice had a bit of a hoarse, scratchy sound, as if he'd been crying but didn't want anyone to know.  
  
Wesley considered for a moment, confident that the clerk that he'd hired could handle any simple questions that came up. "I might not be able to fix whatever is wrong, but... I can listen, if you want to talk."  
  
For a moment, Kurt looked like he was going to refuse, to brush off the offer of a listening ear. Then, he seemed to slump, almost shrinking in on himself. "I suppose... it could not hurt to talk about it. But, is there somewhere... less public?"  
  
"My office, in the back." Wesley spoke softly, making the offer apparent, hoping that Kurt would let someone help before whatever was bothering him ripped him open inside.  
  
Kurt followed him, almost silently, a somber, miserable shadow through the shelves and into the back. Wesley opened the door to his office, gesturing at the rather battered but comfortable chair that he kept for the times when he wanted to read after the store closed. Hoping to help Kurt relax a bit, he turned to the teakettle that he kept on a little hot plate. "Do make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cup of tea?"  
  
"Please." Kurt accepted the cup, just holding it for a while, staring at the wisps of steam as if trying to figure out where to begin with his explanation.  
  
He waited, knowing that pushing Kurt to talk would only alienate him. And it wasn't as if sitting in his office with a cup of tea would hurt anything. There was also the feeling that whatever was bothering Kurt, it would be something big, something serious.  
  
"It happened last night. S... One of my teachers was attacked. I don't know the details, but she was left unconscious. And I don't know if she'll wake up, I don't know what happened to her..." Kurt's words trailed off, and he swallowed at the tea as if trying to drown the words before they could get out.  
  
Wesley felt cold dread curl inside him, grasping at his spine, chilling him. "Was it... did she have a head injury? I assume.. I hope that she is receiving skilled medical care."  
  
"She is being cared for. But... there was no reason... no injury that should have kept her from waking up. What if... what if the cause is something that he can't find?" Kurt's voice was low, rough with emotion.  
  
Wesley nodded, knowing how hard it was to wait as someone lay in a hospital bed, wanting to help and unable to do so. "Yes, that is a difficult thing. I suppose the only thing to do is hope that the doctor caring for her will find the answer, will be able to help her."  
  
"What... what if he doesn't?" Kurt's words were almost too soft to hear.  
  
Looking at the unhappy boy, Wesley sighed, suddenly feeling far older than he actually was. "Then... I suppose it couldn't hurt to pray. And if you need someone to talk to... I'm here."  
  
"That's... something." Kurt sighed, drinking the last of the tea. "Thank you for that much, Herr Wyndham-Price."  
  
Watching the boy slip back out of the office, Wesley sighed. Kurt might say that it was something, but it didn't feel like enough. What if... what if it wasn't a medical cause keeping the teacher unconscious? What if it was some sort of demon, or spell? Granted, there wasn't a lot of evidence that Bayville had a demon problem, but it couldn't hurt to look for anything that might have done such a thing, could it? Then, the sudden dreadful thought occurred to Wesley - was the teacher Ororo?  
  
end part 2. 


	2. part 3

Wesley found himself spending most of the night with his books, searching for things that could have rendered someone unconscious. As that was a very general possibility, the result was a large list, with a simple 'medical injury, head trauma' at the top, several categories of spells and rituals, and then families of demons. There were even a few types of mystical artifacts that could be responsible. If he had more information than simply 'unconscious, and no injury that should keep her from waking up' then he might be able to narrow it further. Was the state like sleep? Was it a deeper form of unconsciousness? Was she trapped in some sort of dream state or trance?  
  
He wasn't certain quite when it happened, but somehow, he'd fallen asleep over his books. When he awoke, his first panicked thought was that he was being attacked by a gray tentacled monster with a tiny sickle. He jerked away with a half smothered squawk, then realizing that the 'attacking thing' was in fact an illustration in one of his books. Quite embarrassing, actually, and it made his feel very relieved that nobody seemed to be there to witness that little scene.   
  
Shaking his head, he glanced over his notes, trying to remember where he'd stopped searching last night – or had that been earlier this morning? Sighing, he returned to his books, pausing only long enough to refill his teakettle. Bayville had been so quiet, well, on the demon front at least, that there almost had to be something. There had to be something, and if there was, it should be in his books… that was what years of specialized training on how to become a Watcher had taught him. Well, that and the fact that a man between twenty and forty in reasonable physical shape could function for close to seventy two hours on adrenalin and tea before having a fit of temper and passing out. Unless someone, such as a senior Watcher or a potential Slayer knocked him or her unconscious first… and yes, physical injury was on the list, and crossed out. Any capable medical facility would have checked for that.  
  
Time blurred again, and Wesley felt something in his back protesting. Maybe he should move a little, get up, stretch out some of his muscles? Surely it couldn't hurt to do so. He felt like an old man, rising slowly from his seat, and he felt more like he was staggering out into the front of the store. If he did a few passes around the store to make certain that everything was running smoothly…  
  
He heard near whispered voices, something about 'not ugly enough' countered by 'look in another volume'. The voices sounded oddly familiar… Slowly, with a rising sense of puzzlement mingled with dread, Wesley drew closer to the horror section, which actually contained copies of some of the more common volumes of demons as well as works of fiction. Kurt was there, with the boy who seemed to be somehow connected to Ororo, and they both looked very upset about something. There was a slightly crumpled paper that they kept looking at, as they flipped through the volumes, searching for something.  
  
"Is there something that I can help you with? Kurt? And… I'm sorry, but I don't quite know your friend." Wesley had the feeling that their presence here was a clear sign that the 'something' that had affected one of their teachers wasn't responding to medicine.  
  
The darker boy, who had nasty bruises and a few scrapes, looked as if he hadn't been sleeping well. He held up a paper with a drawing, looking almost like something from a Japanese animation, but quite clearly a demon. Actually, he thought that he remembered seeing something similar to that in one of his books… "I'm Evan."  
  
Kurt looked over, his eyes full of worry. "It's… there are complications. Could we… talk in the back? I think… I hope you can help us."  
  
"Of course, follow me. Do you care for tea, Evan?" Wesley made his way back to the office, his mind already working trying to remember where he'd seen the illustration.  
  
"It's okay… Auntie O always has tea when she wants to relax." He paused, as if having some internal debate. "Something's wrong with her, and they can't seem to fix it. I think… I think it had to do with the thing that attacked her."  
  
Wesley led them into his office, which was much more cluttered with books than it had been during Kurt's visit – had that been only yesterday? "Just move a stack, carefully. What did it look like?"  
  
Kurt looked around, eyes wide. "Wow… have you been… all of this since yesterday?"  
  
"Yes, well…" Wesley felt a bit awkward, tying to focus on pouring everyone some tea. "I had a few suspicions that whatever had happened to your teacher might not have been entirely… natural."  
  
"It wasn't a mutant." There was something caught between fear and hostility in Evan's words, and his grip on the teacup was tight.  
  
"Young man, I did not say that it was a mutant responsible for attacking… the person stricken by this. I said not entirely natural, referring to the possibility of something magical or demonic. I assure you that both are every bit as real as mutants." Wesley sighed, rubbing at his temple, trying to sooth the headache.  
  
"Magic? Demons? Are you crazy?" Evan looked outraged, and stood up, in preparation to leave.  
  
Wesley lifted a large book bound in greenish blue leather, opening it to the partial page of notes. There was an engraved illustration on the opposite page, the jutting lower tusks, the curling horns that reminded him of a bighorn sheep, the peculiarly lumpy texture of the hide of the demon, and one taloned hand clutching what appeared to be a marble sized sphere. "Is this what attacked your teacher?"  
  
Evan took the book, his hands shaking. He stared at the illustration, Kurt leaning over to look as well. Slowly, he almost seemed to sink back into the chair.  
  
"That… what is that?" Kurt's question was shocked, almost horrified.  
  
Wesley sighed, searching for the bottle of pain killers. His father would be quite disappointed in him about now, he was certain of it. "It's called a Del'Perle demon. The name comes from a slurring of the Italian for collector of pearls. As far as demons go, it's not terribly dangerous except for one very notable and alarming ability. It can remove a person's soul, which is placed in the pearl, which isn't precisely a pearl, but that's an irrelevant detail. There has been considerable speculation on what the purpose of the soul pearls is, but what is known is that the demons keep them, sometimes building up impressive and terrible collections, and that if the pearl is retrieved in time, the soul will rejoin the body of the person. One simply has to get the pearl close enough."  
  
"How long is… what is the time limit?" Kurt spoke, his voice quavering a bit.  
  
"By historical precedent, generally around three days, after which the body, devoid of the soul and consciousness, generally withers and dies. Since you mentioned that she is getting medical care…" Wesley paused, trying to swallow the large feeling lump of dread in his throat. Surely the 'she' was Ororo. Hadn't Evan said his Auntie O? "I think our limit is the duration of her body's continued survival."  
  
"Our limit?" Evan blinked, looking at him in confusion. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I'm going to help you. You might… I'm assuming that the pair of you are mutants, but what do either of you know about demons?" Wesley looked at them, feeling as if the logic was perfectly obvious to him. Why didn't they see it as well?  
  
End part 3. 


	3. parts 4 and 5

"You? But…" Evan paused, looking at Kurt as if to get some sort of support. "No offense, but it sounds like this is dangerous. What if it goes after you?"  
  
Wesley looked at them, a small smile on his face as he picked up a gleaming sword. "This is what I was trained for. For my whole life, I was prepared for hunting demons. Now, while there are some things that the Watchers should have done a better job on, like how to… well, that's not important. I know how to identify demons, I know how to find their weaknesses, and I bloody well know how to fight."  
  
"This… hunting demons. It didn't include strange looking mutants, did it?" Kurt sounded worried, shifting a bit on his feet. He seemed to be fidgeting with his watch a great deal, far more than could simply be explained by curiosity for the time.  
  
The bits connected in his mind. "So, this isn't what you truly or normally look like. How is the… altered appearance caused? What do you look like the rest of the time?"  
  
Holding up his wrist, Kurt gestured at the watch. "It's this. It has a built in holographic projector – a friend of the Professor built it for me. And it tells time, and has a little light. Without it I'm… sort of blue."  
  
"Just show him." Evan sighed, rubbing at his head. "We got to fix this before Auntie O gets any worse."  
  
Kurt pushed a little button on the side, and suddenly, his appearance changed. His skin was now blue, and he only had two fingers on each hand. Pointed ears poked through his dark hair, and his eyes were solid yellow. He sort of raised his hands, in the near universal 'hey, I'm unarmed' gesture, and offered a weak smile. Something was moving behind him, and a second glance revealed it to be a slender tail. "The real me."  
  
Wesley blinked, finding the sudden change rather startling. "Well… that's… different." No wonder Kurt worried about the possible inclusion of some mutants among the categories of 'demon', especially with a sword at hand. "I can see why there might be difficulties with school without that… very sophisticated watch. Can you use any weapons?"  
  
For a moment, Kurt was silent, and then the largest smile bloomed on his face, showing long, sharp eyeteeth. "I can use a sword… vell, multiple swords at a time, if they are fairly close. I'm not the best, but there can be an advantage to going against convention. Have you some… like the old Errol Flynn movies?"  
  
"Yes, there are several. How… how many can you use at a time?" Wesley blinked, trying to consider the possibilities at the same time as he tried to remember where that particular box had been packed.  
  
"Three." Kurt was practically bouncing on his toes. "umm… how dangerous is this going to be?"  
  
"Well, we're going to attack a demon capable of looking into your eyes and separating the soul from your body, armed with swords and… well, any useful abilities the two of you might have." Wesley picked up a small package containing a general group of supplies, enough for a couple basic binding rituals, a spell to dispel concealments, and some bandages. While he would never be a powerful mage, he could still do a few very basic things, and it felt a little better to be prepared. "It will be dangerous, and we could get hurt. But if we don't do this… who will?"  
  
"Confidence inspiring… not." Evan's mutter wasn't quite below Wesley's hearing.  
  
Deciding to ignore that for now, he made his way out of the office, and opened the box of swords, his hands brushing over carefully wrapped slender bundles. Carefully, he pulled out three swords, placing them on a table near Kurt. "Do be careful with them, and they are sharp."  
  
Unwrapping them, Kurt grinned again. "These are very nice…"  
  
"Yes well… I can't think of anything else, let's go find this demon." Wesley tried to take a deep breath, his chest feeling tight with nervous dread and anticipation. He could do this, had to be able to do this. As he'd told Evan, if not them, then who? And Ororo's life depended on this… "Here we go."  
  
"Might as well start near where we got attacked by that… de-pearl demon." Evan shivered a little, despite the warmth of the day.  
  
There were signs of the struggle, including an odd looking spike of what appeared to be bone embedded in a tree, stained with a dark fluid. Wesley stared at the sharp object, trying to figure out what it could have come from. Polgara demons had long bone spikes in their arms, but they didn't break away. There was a family of demon species that produced sort of knifelike plates, but those weren't quite like this, and had a broader shape as he recalled. "What… apparently, the demon has been wounded, but…"  
  
"That's mine." Evan didn't quite meet Wesley's eyes, looking almost embarrassed as he stared at the dark stained spike. "I got to work on my aim."  
  
Well, that certainly added a few ideas to Wesley's plan. Part of him was trying to wail that human's just didn't do that, couldn't do that. It was the part of him that like his father, wanted to pretend the mutant issue didn't exist, that there was nothing more to worry about than hostile demons and apocalyptic prophecies, possibly rogue wizards. It was a part of himself that he tried to ignore, knowing that while most people couldn't do such things, some people could do strange, near impossible things. Like hang in the air, held only by the wind. "Possibly you'll be able to distract it with some more of those when we attack."  
  
"That thing did… it hurt Auntie O. I want to do a lot more than just distract it." Evan's voice was thick with anger.  
  
"While I find that idea entirely understandable…" Wesley paused, certain that now was not the time to mention his impossible crush on that very same woman. Swallowing, he tried to start again. "I understand that you are angry. But you must not let that anger rule your actions, or you will make careless mistakes."  
  
Evan glared, and he sighed, but after walking for a ways, he muttered "Easy for you to say."  
  
Wesley just sighed, knowing that the words were far from easy, and far from solely for Evan's benefit. He needed to remember them as well. Do not give in to anger, for that is the path to the Dark… no, that was from a movie. Giving in to anger was the path to stupid mistakes, which was the path to getting killed. He'd rather put that off for a good long time, thank you very much.  
  
End part 4.  
  
The trail was almost too easy to follow, and that very ease was raising alarms in Wesley's mind. Why make it so easy for any potential enemies to follow, unless… "I think we should be very careful. This is too easy, there has to be something, a trap, or… something."  
  
"Right, because tracking demons into the trees is always just too easy." Evan shook his head. "What makes you say this is too easy anyhow?"  
  
"The trail has been exceptionally clear, with several complete footprints. There has been no evasive action, such as streams or trees, not even a simple effort to avoid leaving footprints. Practically the only thing that would make this clearer would be signs, reading 'Del'Perle lair this way'. Even a small child could be more stealthy if they wanted, so why hasn't the demon made some effort to avoid pursuit?" Wesley shook his head, trying to think quickly. If he was wrong, he'd just feel silly. If he was right, they might be killed if they couldn't take precautions.  
  
Glancing back, Evan offered a shrug. "Are you sure it's not just a dumb demon?"  
  
"We couldn't be so fortunate. No, all accounts and records indicate that they are at least as intelligent as the average human, which means there must be a reason." He offered a small shrug, before continuing. "It would make a few things easier, but the stupid demons can't steal souls. They generally just kill people."  
  
"Maybe it's a good thing that it wasn't a stupid demon then." Kurt's voice was somber, as if the possibility of getting killed was disturbing him, which it should be.  
  
There was a cave dug into the side of a hill, the path leading right up to it. Those cautions were almost screaming in his head now, and Wesley felt the urge to shudder. He pulled out a flashlight, clicking it, pleased that his hand was only shaking a little. They moved carefully into the cave, which turned shortly afterwards. It would have been a good place for an ambush.  
  
Apparently, someone else had the same thought. There was a body, a short, stocky man with wild dark hair, dressed in battered jeans and a flannel shirt. He looked to have just collapsed on the ground.  
  
"Logan!" The exclamation emerged from the boys at the same moment, filled with shock and a bit of fear.  
  
Slowly, Wesley knelt down, reaching towards the body. To his surprise, the body was warm, and in fact there was still a pulse, and slow breathing. "He's not dead. I think… I think the demon got him as well."  
  
"But… but he's… he's the guy who knows how to fight! How are we going to get this thing if he couldn't?" Evan looked very worried, and he gestured nervously at the fallen form of Logan.  
  
"I assume that he fights at close range? If there is a requirement for eye contact… How close was it when the demon took…" He couldn't quite say the words. Wesley tried again. " How close was it when it attacked Ororo?"  
  
"It was close. It growled, and reached out… touched her on the forehead, and then she just… crumpled. She was all… it was like she couldn't move when it reached for her." Evan shuddered.  
  
"Well then, it must require being very close, and possibly contact. If we prevent that from happening…" Wesley was thinking out loud, hoping that this wouldn't be his spectacular last mistake ever.  
  
"I think I hear something." Kurt's voice interrupted Wesley's thought.  
  
Then Wesley heard a noise, sort of like a scraping. They all tensed, and the Del'Perle came into view, the flashlight unkind to it's lumpy hide, gleaming on the lower tusks, the curling horns. It looked at them, lips curling away from sharp teeth and it made a sort of rumbling noise, almost like… Was it laughing at them?  
  
Evan made a noise, like a strangled shout, and a blur of motion sent four of those sharp spikes flying at the demon. Kurt leapt towards it, a sword in each hand and one in his tail, tossing insults in German. Wesley lunged as well, hoping that they could manage this successfully. There was also a tiny corner of his mind that wanted to shout 'Aha! I knew this was too easy! Find the demon, of course he wants found… more souls.'  
  
Kurt's attacks weren't very skillful, but there were so many of them that soon the demon had nicks and cuts over it, and a few of those spikes embedded in it's body. It suddenly moved, grabbing Evan and pulling him close, the other hand reaching for his head.  
  
"Nein!" Kurt shouted, trying to pull his friend back.  
  
Wesley reached into the pouch of supplies, pulling out a bag by touch, and hurling the contents right into the demons eyes. Howling, it dropped Evan, frantically rubbing at it's watering eyes. Picking his sword back up, he moved to attack the demon, slicing the head from it's body in two rather inelegant chops. "That's quite enough!"  
  
Evan coughed, looking at the now dead demon. "What did you do to it? It sure freaked out."  
  
"Salt." Wesley leaned for a moment on his sword, trying to calm down.  
  
Kurt glanced over, a tiny smile. "You did not say that it had any vulnerability to salt."  
  
"No special vulnerability to it at all." Wesley corrected with a little smile. "But throw salt into anything's eyes and it's going to hurt."  
  
"I guess that makes sense." Evan sounded stunned, as if the idea wouldn't have occurred to him. "Now what?"  
  
"Now? Now we look for the soul-pearls. There should be at least two, one for Logan, and one for Ororo." Wesley could feel his muscles trying to shake, the aftereffects of the fight. He'd done rather well, he thought.  
  
End part 5. 


	4. parts 6 and 7

They began a careful search of the den, finding several contraptions of twisted metal. Wesley was uncertain if they were some form of art, or if there was a function of them, and so he decided that they should probably leave them very carefully alone. There was also a hollowed area lined with dried grass and leaves, possibly for sleeping purposes. The search ended in a hammered copper bowl, with five gleaming pearls inside.  
  
"Five… Auntie O, and Logan, but… who else?" Evan's voice was low, uneasy.  
  
Wesley looked over, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know. Possibly people who are currently hospitalized, or perhaps the people who bore those souls are now dead. We don't know… can't know unless we find the people and they wake up. Shall we take the bowl towards Logan, and then to Ororo?"  
  
Evan began to walk towards the exit, the bowl held in slightly trembling hands. "Umm… what happens if I drop these?"  
  
"Now you ask a question like that?" Kurt's worry was easy to hear.  
  
Evan shrugged, glaring a bit at Kurt. "Better now than never, right? And… whoa!" He had forgotten about the fallen body of Logan, and tripped.  
  
Pearls flew out of the bowl, and the boys both stared in shock as one pearl just… expanded into wisps of something that looked almost like shimmering fog.  
  
"Oh no…" Evan gasped, looking shocked and horrified. Frantically, he started to look for the other fallen pearls.  
  
The pale mist swirled slightly, and then it began to flow into Logan, passing through his nose and parted lips into his body, almost like watching something flow into a drain. A few very rapid heartbeats after the last of the mist was gone, Logan stirred, slowly sitting up. "What are you kids doing here?"  
  
"He's alive!" Kurt's shout was jubilant.  
  
"We had established that already. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he's awake?" Wesley smiled a little, pleased to find that the actual process of restoration was so simple. "But it is a very good thing to know."  
  
Logan staggered stiffly to his feet, glaring at Wesley suspiciously. "Who're you?"  
  
"Wesley Wyndham-Price. I own a bookstore in Bayville." He offered the hand that wasn't holding either the flashlight. "We killed the demon responsible."  
  
"It vas teamwork." Kurt sounded almost cheerful, now that their teacher was better, no longer laying so corpselike on the ground.  
  
"Huh." Logan briefly shook Wesley's hand, looking generally unhappy about the whole situation. "What's in the bowl?"  
  
"Souls." Wesley wanted to clean his glasses, but resisted the urge. Now was not the time for something so… bookish. "One of them belongs to Ororo, and we don't know who the others came from, or if those people are even still alive."   
  
"So that's what it did…" Logan shook his head, scowling. "Best get on back. Someone's probably worried about you kids by now."  
  
By the time they made it to the mansion, which was quite impressive, Wesley was really wishing that they'd gone demon hunting in a car. His feet were getting sore, and it was quite awkward to carry a sword around like that.  
  
Logan pushed the front doors open, and they all trailed in behind him, Evan still carrying the bowl of soul-pearls, and Kurt still blue and carrying three of Wesley's swords with him. Wesley trailed after, determined to see this through, to see Ororo well again. There were more people coming to look, some of them more teenagers from the local high school, and a bald man in a wheelchair, who was frowning slightly. Logan ignored them, and Wesley found himself just following along in Logan's wake.  
  
He really should do something about that. Become a bit more independent, less likely to get swept along by someone… He made a mental note to start working on that after Ororo had woke up. Until then, it was actually quite useful that nobody seemed willing to try to stop them. Logan led them into a nearly concealed elevator, and they went downwards.  
  
When the elevator doors whooshed open, there was a gleaming metallic hallway, lit with panels of light. It looked like something out of an expensive Hollywood movie. Logan growled slightly, as if he didn't like this area, but continued on, heading towards the right. Wesley found himself wondering not only how safe Logan actually was, but if he was the survivor of some dreadful and traumatic experience. Was there a reason for his apparent dislike of technological facilities?  
  
Logan opened a door, revealing what looked remarkably like a hospital room, with a single occupant. Ororo was in the bed, still and unmoving, a slender tube of fluid going into her arm. Evan just froze, standing there, facing his aunt.  
  
Wesley stepped closer, lifting the bowl from Evan's hands. He moved slowly, careful not to stumble or tremble as he approached Ororo. "She needs these a bit closer."  
  
Wesley stopped, almost but not touching the bed that Ororo rested on. One of the pearls shimmered a bit, the colors shifting more, and it almost seemed to grow a bit before it unfolded, expanding out into a wispy mass of shimmering paleness. The pale tendrils slowly moved inside Ororo, and then she made a small noise, a little cough.  
  
End part 6.  
  
"Goodness! She's waking up! If you could please take a few steps back so that I may ensure my patient's safety…" There was a bound of motion, and a large form dressed only in a pair of pants and a lab coat, with blue fur over every visible bit of his body and sharp looking claws and teeth, as well as almost shockingly normal wire framed glasses was standing at the bed.   
  
Wesley glanced over at Kurt, noting that the only apparent similarities were the blue fur and both being male. "Is blueness a common mutation then?"  
  
"I don't know if there is such a thing as a common mutation." Kurt shrugged a little.  
  
"I can't find any reason for it, but you are once again with us in the land of the living. Of course, I couldn't find any reason why you would not awaken sooner, but… Perhaps this gentleman can shed some light on the matter?" The blue doctor turned, looking right at Wesley.  
  
Wesley felt a bit self conscious, especially with Ororo looking at him, her lovely blue eyes filled with questions. "Umm… there was a demon. The creature that attacked you in the park was a demon, and it took your soul out of your body, causing your collapse. Evan and Kurt came to my store trying to learn what the demon was, and we… went out and found it. After it was… no longer a problem..."   
  
"You mean after you made it drop me, start howling, and chopped off it's ugly head." Evan interrupted, grinning at Wesley  
  
"Yes, well… after we killed the demon, we found the bowl where it had placed the souls of it's victims." Wesley looked around for a small table where he could place the bowl.  
  
"Including Logan. He looked almost dead." This was from Kurt, and his words prompted Logan to growl a little at him.  
  
Wesley tried not to wince about the interruptions. "Yes, well… Logan's soul was restored to him, enabling him to wake up and lead us here. Once we were here, in this… umm, medical facility, it was simply a matter of bringing the soul-pearls close enough that yours would return to you."  
  
"Simply? You fought a demon to rescue the soul of someone that you don't even know, and you say simply? I think that you underestimate yourself, sir." She smiled at him, looking oddly serious and joyful at the same time.  
  
He felt himself blushing. "err… Wesley Wyndham-Price."  
  
"Well, Wesley Wyndham-Price, I thank you most sincerely for this." Her smile was the most wonderful thing that he'd ever seen.  
  
"I ahh… err… you're very welcome." Wesley knew that he was blushing, and stammering like an idiot. In that moment, he understood why people wished the ground would open up and swallow them. Why had it been so much easier to fight the demon than to speak to the lovely woman who'd been haunting his dreams?  
  
She smiled at him, an expression that was surely more than worth fighting a demon for. "You must stay for dinner."  
  
For a moment, Wesley felt lightheaded, and certain that he'd been hearing things. But Evan was making that odd sort of expression that teenagers got when the adults around them acted like… well, potentially interested, and Kurt was grinning like a blue loon, so he must have heard her correctly. "I would be delighted to stay."  
  
"Good. Your accomplishment has been most impressive, but I believe it would be good to make certain there are no residual ill effects, and I do believe the Professor wishes to speak to Kurt and Evan." The blue doctor's words were a polite hint to leave the room. As everybody was slowly shuffling out, the doctor spoke again. "Logan, I believe you should come down later for an examination as well."  
  
"Damn." Logan's half growled word was surely audible to everyone.  
  
And Wesley found himself riding back up the elevator, and meandering out into the impressive entry hall, where Evan and Kurt were flocked by their friends, who seemed torn between impressed at what they'd done and worried. He heard several people ask if they'd been trying to get killed.  
  
"If I might have a few words in private, Mr. Wyndham-Price?" A smooth, calm voice that somehow reminded him of most of his instructors from years past spoke. It was the man in the wheelchair.   
  
Wesley really didn't want to start chatting with people, but… was there any sort of way to graciously refuse? He didn't see any. "Of course, please lead the way."  
  
End part 7. 


	5. parts 8 and 9

Wesley followed the Professor into an office, wondering exactly what was on the other man's mind. Was this some sort of… inquiry into his motivations? A prelude to a request to allow the continued discretion of the students? An unsubtle warning to back away? He would just have to wait and see.  
  
"Please, have a seat." The Professor gestured at a chair, while he moved around behind his desk. "And in case nobody mentioned, I am Professor Charles Xavier."  
  
Slowly, Wesley lowered himself into the chair. It was comfortable enough, the leafy tapestry patterned covering a creation in soothing golds and greens. "I must admit to some curiosity as to your motivation."  
  
Chuckling slightly, Xavier nodded. "Yes, I suppose you would be. I must say, this was a rather unexpected occurrence… a demon. We really aren't prepared for demons. Perhaps you could explain a bit about how you knew what was responsible, and why you chose to act?"  
  
Wesley nodded, trying to organize his thoughts. "I assume that Evan and Kurt are not the only mutants here, especially not having seen the doctor. I am also assuming that you and the rest of the people here would prefer that information to… hmm… remain discreet. The first that I learned of… well, of this was Kurt mentioning that something had happened to one of his teachers, and that she was not waking up. Or maybe that's not the place to start…"  
  
"But how did you know that it was a demon?" The Professor sounded rather worried, and a bit puzzled.  
  
Wesley sighed, shifting a bit in his chair. This might take a while. "For as long as there has been recorded history, there have been things other than humans. These other things have been recorded as demons, nymphs, the source of legends and myth. Most of them are very real, and some of them are very dangerous. For almost as long, there have been people who tried to learn how to protect humans from the dangers of some of these other things, by fighting, or by magic. There is a special… well, no, that really doesn't apply. Eventually, some of these groups of protectors and learned people formed organizations, and one of those became the Council of Watchers, which has a discreet base in London. Watchers are supposed to look for dangerous demonic or vampiric activities and take measures to lessen or remove the dangers."  
  
"How do they know? How can you be certain these dangers aren't simply mutants?" Xavier still sounded worried, but also fascinated. "And how do you know these things?"  
  
"Years of careful study and training. Centuries of observation and careful research have produced volumes of books listing demons, their habits and their weaknesses. What they do, how dangerous they are, how to kill them… And as these books were complied centuries ago, and mention populations, it does not seem likely that they refer to mutants. And, if I may be entirely honest, if there is something that rips off heads and permits it's carnivorous spawn to gestate in the body of the deceased, I really don't care where it came from or how it's genetics look, I want it dealt with before it comes after my head and liver." Wesley sighed.  
  
"Surely you're exaggerating… trying to create unneeded fear." The Professor looked shocked.  
  
"No. That's a Wukuirie demon. They eat humans and other large mammals, and they gestate their young in the bodies. Very nasty. There are other demons species that have similar nasty reproductive habits… The point is that they are not killed for being different, they are killed to prevent them from killing us. There are also demons that are perfectly harmless, or harmless unless provoked, much as humans are supposed to be. Records show that there were demons fighting in both World Wars, for example." Wesley sighed. "Part of a Watcher's training is to learn those lists, or at least a general idea. To know how to observe, and to not initiate hostilities with an unknown, just in case they are not dangerous unless someone else antagonizes them."  
  
Shaking his head, Xavier murmured "But why haven't I heard about this before?"  
  
"Ahh… Traditionally, these things were fairly open in the Middle Ages, and as societies moved towards science and away from accepting religious and traditional teaching, people who admitted to believing in magic and demons started to be… no longer quite accepted." Wesley paused, considering how to explain. "So, demons were no longer mentioned in public, and the Watchers became known as scholars, historians, curators of museums. There isn't a great deal of defending that can be done from a lunatic asylum, and those have historically been very bad places to be."  
  
"People… they don't really want to know." Wesley sighed, wishing that there was a good, simple explanation. "So, they… explain things away. People killed by vampires… it becomes a wild animal attack, or a serial killer, which is actually a bit true, or… well, they often get listed as 'neck ruptures' accompanied by exsanguination. Many unexplained disappearances are people who have been turned into vampires, or killed, possibly eaten by demons. Unexpected gas leaks and water contamination are used to explain seeing things that don't fit with the logical view, displays of extreme strength are ascribed to drugs or theatrical displays. Or the person convinces theirself that they didn't really see that person just sprout fangs and rip Timmy's throat out, it was just a nightmare, or a very bad joke."  
  
"Do you suppose that some people might believe these… demons to be mutants?" Charles Xavier sounded as if he was horrified and fascinated at the same time now, much like someone viewing a car accident.  
  
"It was never an issue historically, but considering the rising numbers of genetic mutations… I suppose that it is possible. It's also possible that visible mutations, such as Kurt, or that doctor, might be mistaken for some type of demon by other Watchers. Most Watchers… well, before I came to Bayville, I was aware of the existence of mutants, but I'd never really thought about it. I didn't see how the chance that someone's genes might be different affected my life. Most Watchers probably think of it the same way. It doesn't affect us, there is no obvious connection, so why worry?" Wesley watched the Professor as he spoke.  
  
"But…" It was almost as if Charles Xavier had no idea how to express his reaction to that idea.  
  
"You forget, the watchers who mainly do research don't see much of the outside world. They might be able to discuss the genetic and biological factors and effects, but that doesn't mean they would expect to see a website from someone explaining why mutants are good or bad. They would simply accept that they are, and go back to researching something useful, like antidotes to Fialla poison. Or the effects of being shot with bullets on vampires. And for those in the field, as it were, who is to say that a person walking past with oddly colored hair isn't simply making a fashion statement? Unless they appear to be contemplating destruction or violence, many Watchers are content to just… observe." Wesley found himself smiling slightly. "That is why we're called Watchers, after all. We watch things, and take notes for the future."  
  
Xavier almost visibly shook himself out of his thoughts. "But if that's the case, why did you help them?"  
  
"First, the idea that many Watchers are not focused on the mutant issue doesn't mean that Watchers don't care about people. Some care very much. And…" He tried to find another way to explain, but… the way he saw it, he would either be assumed to have done it for Kurt, which could lead to unpleasant questions about his motivation, or he could confess, and the questioning would at least be concerning the right person – Ororo. "I wanted to help Ororo."  
  
"I wasn't aware that you knew her." There was something in the Professor's question.  
  
"I don't precisely. It would be more accurate to say that I know of her." Wesley felt like cringing, but managed to remain in an outward semblance of calm.  
  
"oh." The Professor's stunned expression was quite a memorable sight. "In that case… I believe Ororo invited you to stay for dinner?"  
  
end part 8.  
  
Wesley was trying to figure out what that stunned 'oh' had meant. Was it surprise that he'd been willing to help someone that he only knew of? Somehow, Wesley doubted that. So, what else could it be? He was certain that it had something to do with the mention of Ororo…   
  
"Go ahead, Scott, you can ask him. He doesn't look that dangerous." The redhaired teenager was grinning as she tried to push the young man with the red glasses towards Wesley.  
  
"If he…. But… Jean!" His protests, like those of many young men faced by their girlfriends, were fragmentary and ineffective.  
  
"What precisely are you supposed to ask me?" Wesley tried to contain his amusement.  
  
"Ah, well… Evan said some things… about that thing you fought. The demon." It was obvious that Scott was very uncomfortable with the idea of demons. "He said it took Logan down, but that you… he said you took it down."  
  
"I had two advantages that your…. That Mister Logan did not have. The first advantage is the fact that I had researched, and knew the weak points and vulnerabilities of the demon. Knowing what to do and what to avoid can be great helps." Wesley smiled just a little. "The second advantage… While I'm not certain quite what Evan said, the dispatching of the demon was the product of teamwork, not one person with some sharp things for the purpose of decapitation. And for future reference, if you're attacked by a demon, decapitation works as a means of death for something like eighty percent of the demon species."  
  
"Eighty?" Jean looked a bit pale, and frowned. "But… what about the other twenty percent?"  
  
"That is where the research comes in." He couldn't resist the smile.  
  
"And here I thought dealing with Mystique and the Brotherhood was bad…" Jean shivered. "So… to completely change the subject… Ororo asked you to stay for diner?"  
  
"Yes. I did gather the impression that there would be… most likely most if not all of the other people here watching me to make certain… well, perhaps you would care to explain what everyone will be wondering?" Wesley decided that if Jean felt it alright to ask slightly prying questions or try to put her boyfriend up to them, then he could ask a few of his own.  
  
"Well…. That's sort of complicated." Jean looked as if she was trying not to mention much of anything.  
  
"It's not going to work, Jean. He's got the right to be curious. Most people would have freaked out about Kurt, about the whole mutant thing. You didn't, and you helped us. Not what we've come to expect out of anyone, especially a human… umm… you are human, right?" Scott looked a bit uncertain, as if it had only just occurred to him that the casual statement could have sounded offensive.  
  
Wesley looked at Scott, studying him carefully as he stood there, trying hard not to fidget. Someday, this young man might be a great leader, the sort that men… and women would follow into the very jaws of hell. Maybe Scott deserved a chance to grow into being that leader. "To the best of my knowledge, all of my ancestors have been human, and I don't know of any genetic abnormalities of any sort. So, by both definitions, yes, I am human."  
  
"That's something at least." Jean's mutter was low, and she was twisting the drawstring of her pants over and around her fingers.  
  
"I was taught that the purpose… I was something called a Watcher. The way it was explained to me, a Watcher is supposed to help protect humanity from hostile demons. In case you're curious, that definition, in varying languages, has been in place for thousands of years, so mutants are included in that humanity. So, how could I not help?" Wesley watched them, wondering what it had taken for them to be so astounded by someone trying to help.  
  
"And I think he's got a crush on Auntie O." Evan's voice came from behind.  
  
Closing his eyes, Wesley counted to ten, feeling himself blush. "Thank you for sharing that observation… Didn't the blue doctor say something about the Professor wanting to talk to you?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess he did." Evan slouched a bit as he walked towards the Professor's office.  
  
"I'd best just… go check on the roast." Jean darted out, trying frantically to restrain her mirth.  
  
Scott just looked at him, his eyes unreadable due to those red glasses. "So… Ororo, huh? I can see it. Good luck."  
  
Wesley sighed, and tried to find a suitable couch or chair to sit on. Maybe if he closed his eyes and was very quiet, he could escape any further embarrassment before dinner?  
  
End part 9. 


	6. parts 10 and 11

Wesley wasn't certain how long he'd sat there, eyes closed as he attempted to calm himself, trying almost everything he could think of to be less noticeable. He stopped short of actual magic, of course, but he was definitely hoping to avoid any further embarrassment. He did know that his face had lost that too hot and tight feeling of blushing embarrassment.  
  
"I hope they haven't been too dreadfully embarrassing." Ororo's gentle words flowed over him, like a soothing breeze.  
  
Wesley opened his eyes, seeing her standing there. No longer swathed in hospital bedding, she was now in a flowing gown in some sort of flowing supple blue and violet, with bangle bracelets on her arms. There was a small smile on her lips as she looked at him. "I suppose that depends on how 'dreadful' is defined. I don't think anybody was attempting to be particularly rude, or to embarrass me into leaving, but…"  
  
"But you are not used to feeling as if you are on display?" Her soft smile made certain that the words carried no sting.  
  
"I suppose that is one way to put it. I feel as if… as if I have pointed out a window, and now everybody is frightened and curious by what they see, and they are looking at me as if trying to determine how much of what they see is my fault." He tried to put the uneasy feeling into words.  
  
"That's an interesting way to describe it." She smiled, moving closer and seating herself near him on the couch. She was at an angle, so that while there was a reasonable amount of space between their hips, her knees were almost touching his.  
  
"It's better than it could be. They could be blaming me for this, or rejecting me as an incompetent hack." Wesley frowned, remembering Sunnydale, and the dreadful bumbling of his efforts there. Maybe some of it hadn't been his fault, but honestly, could he have done much worse? He'd been doomed to failure from the very start. Barely finished with his training, and sent to replace not a Watcher killed, or to old for the physical demands, but a man being punished for annoying Quentin Travers.  
  
"Surely not…" Her eyes were like windows to the sky, blue and beautiful and this incredible impossible hue… "Surely your competence has been proven by this?"  
  
Wesley felt a little warmer, looking at her. Surely he wouldn't have a chance… "I'm not certain that most of the people here are certain of anything about me. My guess is that I have inspired quite a number of questions… especially if I am to guess by the behavior of… well, I suppose it doesn't matter who."  
  
"You've already had questions?" Her voice was clear, surprised and almost indignant.  
  
"mmm." Wesley nodded, part of his mind wondering what could be causing her hair to flow like that, as if caught in a breeze. "The Professor was curious how I knew that it was a demon, and… concerned about possible confusion of demons and mutants. As for the rest… It seems that Mr. Logan is held in high regard, and to have triumphed where he… didn't is a most unusual event."  
  
"Logan is a very capable individual. He also has a great deal of practice with fighting… well, we had assumed that he had practice fighting in just about any situation." Ororo's hair drifted around her as she shook her head. "I'd heard stories when I was a child about demons and other monsters, but… I didn't put too much power in them then, and later, I wanted to believe that those stories were… well, somewhat like the ones told about me. I was... I was viewed very differently because of my abilities."  
  
"The ability to hang in the air, held by the wind? It was… a splendid sight." Wesley smiled as he remembered seeing her held in the air, supported by nothing more than the wind. "I told myself that it was more likely that you were a mutant than a wind spirit."  
  
For some reason, that amused her, and she laughed. The sound was almost like silvery bells and the ocean tide. "Well, I've been called things like that before."  
  
"Oh?" Wesley blinked, smiling just a little. "Have I just stumbled blindly onto some sort of in-joke?"  
  
She smiled, one finger pressed to her lips with amusement. Finally, she lowered her finger, her eyes still sparkling with laughter. "I am sometimes called Storm, because of my ability to control the weather."  
  
"To control… oh my." Wesley blinked, feeling rather stunned. He'd known that some mutants could do amazing things, but that was just… "An air spirit indeed."  
  
"For all of that, in some ways, I am just a woman." She stood up, a smile on her face. "Will you come with me now to dinner?"  
  
Wesley stood as well, and held his arm out to her, as he'd been told was the proper protocol since he'd been permitted to dine with the adults instead of away in the kitchen with the servants. "It would be my pleasure, lady of the winds."  
  
She placed her hand on his arm, and they walked together through the house. Wesley felt at once delighted and self-conscious with such a lovely lady on his arm. It wasn't that she was easily as tall as he was, but the simple fact that she had the sort of poise and dignity that he could only compare to the time that he'd seen the Queen Mother at a social function, although that had been at a distance. What had he gotten himself into?  
  
End part 10.  
  
As they approached what could only be the dining room, Wesley could hear the sounds of multiple conversations in progress. He couldn't quite make out the words, but the noise was unmistakable. And then he caught a few phrases that were clear.  
  
"You guys, she'll hear you!" Was that the red haired girl again?  
  
"They're right down the hall." That could only be Logan.  
  
Ororo sighed, shaking her head slightly as she looked upwards. "Why am I not surprised…"  
  
Wesley couldn't quite keep from smiling at that, and smiled as they walked through the doorway into the dining hall. There was a long wooden table, with matching dark wooden chairs. He recognized Logan, the Professor, that blue doctor sitting on the side that had windows, their backs to the light. There were two empty chairs beside them. On the other side, he recognized Kurt and Evan and Kitty, the red haired girl and her boyfriend with the sunglasses, and there was another girl, this one looking sullen, almost matching one of the modern ideas of what a vampire would look like. There were also several other children that he didn't recognize, younger than Kurt and Kitty. Oh dear, time to face the firing squad…  
  
He could feel his shoulders settling back slightly, not that it would make him look particularly intimidating, but the slight straightening effect was noticeable to him. He could feel his face taking on the carefully polite and nearly blank mask that he'd learned in an effort to keep from getting into too much trouble with his father. Politely, he pulled Ororo's chair out for her, with a small smile.  
  
She glanced at him, offering a small smile and a soft 'thank you' as he pushed the chair back into place.  
  
The table was already set with places for everyone, and a delectable looking assortment of food, from the roast that the red head, Jean, was it? had gone to check to corn, beans, and potatoes, soft looking rolls and small tubs of butter flavor spread, and pitchers of gravy. There were also several pitchers of things to drink, milk, and apple juice, as well as a pot of tea. Wesley resisted the urge to smile as some of the children fidgeted during the Professor's prayer of thanks for the food. It had been a while since he'd been the focus of so much attention.  
  
The feeling of so many people watching him, trying to figure him out was easily worth being so close to Ororo. Her brilliant smiles made up for the nearly hostile glare from a younger teen with brown hair, and the looks of possible plotting from the girl in the bright yellow coat. Evan kept looking smug, with the occasional flicker of disturbed. Wesley was certain that thanks to Evan's comment, everybody in the mansion knew of his crush on Ororo. Crush sounded so… youthful, but there really wasn't a better word, unless possibly infatuation…  
  
"You could relax a little." Ororo whispered, leaning close to his ear. "The children won't bite you."  
  
"I'm not terribly practiced with this sort of setting. Social setting. Most of my experience has been tilted a bit the other way, with myself being one of the youngest people in the room." He almost felt like he was apologizing to her.  
  
"Surely dinner can't be more dangerous than fighting a demon?" She had that smile again, one full of confidence and mystery.  
  
"Perhaps that depends on who you're having dinner with." Wesley smiled back, almost not noticing the way he'd relaxed a bit, focusing more on the loveliness of Ororo than on the many staring eyes of the students.  
  
"If you'll make certain that I'm safe from any more demons, I shall endeavor to keep you safe from the students." She was definitely smiling and amused. What was less certain… was she flirting with him?  
  
"I'm not certain who would have the more difficult task there." He was flirting. He jut hoped that it wasn't too badly done.  
  
Across the table, Evan suddenly dropped his fork, muttering something to himself that couldn't quite be heard. Possibly it wasn't quite an accident, he did shoot a few dismayed glances towards Wesley and Ororo as he dropped down to retrieve the fallen utensil.  
  
"Evan? Is everything alright?" Ororo glanced over, frowning slightly at her nephew.  
  
"umm… yeah, Auntie O. Everything's just… yeah." Evan glanced at her awkwardly, before dropping his eyes back to his plate and taking another large swallow of milk.  
  
Wesley sighed, not needing any sort of translation of that. What Evan may have implied was that everything was fine, but what he really meant was that the idea of someone dating his aunt was freaking him out, and he wasn't certain how to deal with it. Especially when he might still be thinking of Wesley as 'that strange guy who believes in demons'. That could complicate his chances for… anything. Tremendously.  
  
It was almost with relief that dinner finally ended. Ororo walked with Wesley towards the front doors, her hand on his arm. The scent of her sandalwood perfume wrapped around Wesley, a subtle call, imprinting deep in his mind, calling up all sorts of sensual images that were really not needed at this moment. "Diner was… unforgettable."  
  
Chuckling, she nodded, half turning so that she faced him. " I suppose that is one way to describe it. Perhaps we could try something… less crowded? Perhaps we could meet in the park on Saturday, for an afternoon picnic? Maybe at one?"  
  
"That sounds wonderful. Shall I bring anything in particular?" Wesley smiled at her, some small part of him attempting to cheer in jubilation inside.  
  
"Perhaps some fruit. It seems very difficult to keep much on hand here, it seems to be eaten rather quickly." She tucked her hair back, looking at him. "I will be looking forward to it."  
  
"So will I." Wesley smiled, and after a few moments of internal debate, kissed her fingers before starting off towards his bookstore. He was already debating the best sorts of fruit to bring on Saturday.  
  
End part 11. 


	7. part 12

Saturday dawned, with Wesley feeling nervous. He spent a while debating what to wear, how to dress, how to act. He'd never been good at dating, and this… Ororo wasn't someone that he wanted to ruin his chances with by being a nervous, uncertain twit. This was important. She was special.  
  
He'd picked up several types of fruit – apples, grapes, a little pre mixed package of berries and melon cubes. He'd almost picked up a few bananas, but the idea of seeing her eat one, something entirely harmless had conjured up… well, very vivid images that didn't involve bananas. That way would lie certain self embarrassment, and so he'd concluded that it would be best NOT to take any bananas to the picnic.  
  
He was waiting in the park at twelve thirty, his hands clutching at a basket holding the fruit, and some rolls and little bottles of fruit juice. He knew that he was early, but he'd been so nervous and tense that he'd felt it might just be better to go to the park. He could fidget there just as easily, and he wouldn't be late.  
  
She was a bit early as well, dressed in a loose and flowing dress of some blue fabric, with golden jewelry catching the sunlight. Over her arm was a faded blue blanket. "Wesley. You came… I thought perhaps a blanket to sit on would be good."  
  
He looked at her, with her radiant and delighted smile. Had she sounded surprised to see him here? "I wouldn't dream of missing the chance to spend time with you. I brought some things, just light food, and some juice… Where should we sit?"  
  
"There is a very nice place over there, beneath those trees. Not too dark, but a bit of shade." Gesturing towards the right, she had this little smile, as if she was enjoying the afternoon already.   
  
"It sounds splendid." Wesley didn't bother looking at the place she pointed towards, certain that anywhere would be splendid, as long as she was there with him.  
  
With a small smile, she stepped closer, almost touching him. The gentle breeze had the hem of her skirt fluttering against his legs. "Wesley? Did you even look at the trees?"  
  
"ahhhh…. No. I was looking at you." He could feel himself flushing, wondering if this admission would provoke laughter. "While I'm sure they're nice trees, you are far more appealing."  
  
"oh." The soft sound demanded his attention. She was standing there, looking at him as if he'd just said something unexpected and astonishing. It was a bare heartbeat later that she had a smile as brilliant as anything, and was leading him off towards the trees. "You say the most flattering things, Wesley."  
  
It felt like no time at all before they were seated on the blanket, the fruit spread out before them. The sight of her nibbling at the mixed berries was so… tempting that Wesley sent a silent thanks to heaven that there were no bananas. The sight of her, raspberries darkening her lips as a trickle of juice escaped to trickle from the corner of those soft lips as her tongue licked at the escaping droplets… well. It was safe to say that he'd probably never look at raspberries quite the same way again. The way she closed her eyes as she bit the fruit, the way that they would ease open to almost catlike slits, darkened with enjoyment…  
  
He was thankful that she could control weather, not read thoughts. Otherwise, he would surely be in so much trouble about now… A cold shower would be useful about now. Cold… he'd nearly forgotten about the drinks. "Juice? I mean, would you like some fruit juice? I brought some in case we got thirsty."  
  
She smiled again, reaching one hand towards him. "Thank you, that sounds delightful."  
  
They spoke of casual things, of where they'd grown up. He told her a few stories about his childhood in London, and she spoke of Cairo. It took a while before he realized that she'd been living not just in the city, but as a street child, more specifically, a street thief. Her father had been a photographer, and her mother had been a princess of a tribe in Africa. He explained how his father had been a Watcher, raising him to know that joining the Council would be his destiny, and that there would be no choice in it. Neither of them went into too much detail, but they were both getting to know each other better.  
  
They were enjoying the conversation so much that time passed without their notice. It wasn't until a familiar voice called out 'Hey! Auntie O!' that they realized the sun was slowly sinking on the horizon.  
  
"Goodness, have we spent the whole day talking?" She looked shocked.  
  
Wesley blinked, glancing around them. "It… appears that way. I can't think of anything I would rather have been doing."  
  
"I should probably go… Make certain that everything is progressing, and that Evan has remembered to do his homework." She sounded almost reluctant to leave.  
  
"Perhaps we could meet again? I could take you out for dinner…" Wesley made the offer, hoping for more time in her company.  
  
"That sounds splendid. I will have to drop into your book shop Monday to plan out the details." She was smiling again, her eyes twinkling.  
  
"Auntie O, we were a bit worried about you." Evan's voice was closer now.  
  
Glancing at her nephew, Ororo smiled. "As you can see, I am quite well."   
  
Then, she looked back at Wesley, her tongue flicking over her lips for a half moment before she leaned closer. Her lips brushed against his in a moment of blissful contact. "Today was delightful."  
  
Wesley was giddy the entire way back to his apartment. She'd kissed him, and she wanted to go out to dinner with him. Life was wonderful.  
  
End part 12. 


	8. part 13

Wesley couldn't remember much of the time between his picnic and Monday morning. What he was aware of when he made his way to his store on Monday was that Ororo would be here. She would be looking at his store, forming an opinion about it, about him… and he was nervous. Possibly over-reacting, but definitely nervous.  
  
So he fussed about his store, trying to ensure that it would look presentable. He made certain that the books that should go out were ready, that the announcements for soon to be released books were up to date, that the sections of histories and natural sciences and the supernatural section were orderly. Oh yes, he was fussing, engaging in what his employees called 'micro-managing'. Finally, he made his way to the office to indulge in a cup of tea.  
  
It was just as he was contemplating having a second cup that one of his employees tapped at the door. "Mr. Wyndham-Price? You… umm… there's a woman out front, she said you were expecting her. Tall, white hair, dark skin…"  
  
Wesley couldn't get out of his chair fast enough. "Yes, yes, I am expecting her."  
  
As they walked back out to the front, Wesley ignored the soft mutter from Ben. 'That explains the whole nervous thing… she's hot.'  
  
There she was, a glorious sight to behold. "Ororo… It's good to see you. Would you… ah… I could offer you a cup of tea?"  
  
She smiled, her eyes twinkling like fine sapphires. "So very British of you… I think that might be nice."  
  
Wesley offered her his arm, feeling rather self-conscious. He wondered if everybody in the entire store was staring at them, or if it was just his own insecurity. They made their way back to his office, Wesley feeling nervous and having that utter certainty that there were eyes watching him, and Ororo smiling. He offered her the seat, feeling glad that things were much neater than when he'd talked to Evan and Kurt. "Sugar or cream in your tea?"  
  
"Wesley, I don't bite. And nobody is here watching you." She smiled as she accepted the cup of tea. "I… I must confess that I don't have very many… I don't have very many dates. And there do seem to be quite a few people feeling protective."  
  
Wesley could only smile at that understatement. "I'd noticed that. The protectiveness, that is, not… ahh… Why wouldn't you have more dates? I can't see any reason why, unless your family have been chasing them away."  
  
"There are a good many people who would be reluctant to date a mutant. There are also some… I did not grow up in America, and my reactions are not the same as those of someone who did. That also seems to unsettle some people." She held the cup carefully, as if it was very fragile, and blew gently at the tea's surface, sending the wisps of steam spiraling in new directions.  
  
"Perhaps the American reactions are…." Wesley stopped himself, deciding that it would not be wise to insinuate that Americans were lacking, especially considering that as near as he could tell, all her family were American. "America is not the whole world, and there are plenty of other people who do not feel things must always be done in the American tradition."  
  
"Someone like you, perhaps?" There was a hint of humor in her voice.  
  
Wesley could feel himself blushing. "Well… yes. And I'm not going to avoid you for being a mutant, or... Well, I must confess it felt rather awkward to have so many people looking at me so oddly. I wasn't quite certain if they were trying to figure out what I was after, or how to throw me out."  
  
She laughed, a beautiful sound like the gentle fall of water. "Perhaps some of them were. But I promise not to let them. I would like to get to know you better. Do you like seafood?"  
  
Wesley smiled, encouraged by what she'd said. She didn't want to let them chase him off… that had to mean that he had at least some chance, right? "Seafood can be quite good. I hadn't… is there a particularly good place in the area? I've only been here a few months, and I haven't done too much exploring."  
  
"I know a very good place. We can go there one evening – are any of them particularly bad for you?" She sipped at her tea, watching him.  
  
"I don't really have too much… oh, shipments arrive on Tuesdays, those are normally spent organizing the newly arrived books. Other than that…" Wesley made a small shrug, confident that there was absolutely nothing currently going on that couldn't' be rescheduled for Ororo. "Is there a day that's better for you?"  
  
"Maybe we could try for this Thursday?" Wesley offered, hands busy with his own cup of tea.  
  
"That sounds… very good. Can you pick me up at the mansion, perhaps at seven?" She looked at him, a small hopeful smile on her face.  
  
"I would be delighted." Wesley meant it, already delighted by the idea. Now all he had to do was survive the anticipation.  
  
End part 13. 


	9. parts 14 and 15

Wesley was so caught up in his delighted half dreams of a blossoming relationship between himself and Ororo that it was several hours before a chance event brought his mind crashing back to the situation that had enabled them to actually meet. He'd been making certain all the weapons were properly stored when he found the trio of blades that Kurt had borrowed. Weapons used to fight the Del'Perla demon. The soul stealer… that had five soul pearls in a copper bowl. Not two, one for Logan and one for Ororo, but five.  
  
Five souls, three of which were still in the bowl. Three souls that had been taken from their owners. Three souls that should be returned, assuming their owners were still alive.  
  
He spent several minutes calling himself all sorts of names, starting with 'love-struck fool' and continuing from there. No matter how pretty Ororo was, no matter how delightful the idea of a relationship was, he should not let hopes and dreams make him forget every responsibility that had been drilled into him. It was his responsibility as a Watcher – even if the Council had fired him – to try to protect people from demons. That meant that he shouldn't just traipse along enraptured by the most stunning blue eyes and pale hair that he'd ever seen, oblivious to the question of the other souls.  
  
The best place to start would be to make certain how many possible places a person struck 'inexplicably' comatose might be taken. The next step would be to take the soul pearls through those areas, in hopes that if their rightful – well, what was the proper word? Rightful owner? Proper vessel? Housing of flesh? Err… in hopes that body and soul could be reunited, yes, that was it. And if not at the hospital, then what?  
  
Wesley sat down, concluding that he had no idea what to do if the bodies weren't in the hospital. Perhaps he'd best just hope they would all be there. That was when he realized something else – he'd left the bowl of souls in the medical facility under the mansion. With a small groan, he let his forehead fall onto his hand, closing his eyes. It was a good thing nobody from the council knew what a mess he'd been making of this.  
  
On the other hand, it was a very good thing that he had some familiarity with computers, which some Watchers lacked. Actually, it might be more accurate to say that some Watchers scoffed at the idea of using a computer. While there were some things that a computer might not be able to help with, there were far more things that they could be used for. Perhaps they couldn't translate an inscription from Etruscan, but they could easily provide a city map. Easily verify that there was only one other place that a victim of the Del'Perla might have been taken.  
  
Of course, he might still want to have someone go with him to find the hospital… Possibly Evan could help him with that? Musing over the possibilities, Wesley returned to the front of the store. Evan was there, fidgeting a bit as Kitty chattered cheerfully beside him. The coincidence was almost unsettling. "Evan, Kitty. Good afternoon."  
  
Evan looked up, grinning as he lifted a small bag with three round lumps. "You forgot these."  
  
"Ahhh…." Wesley smiled, certain that the remaining soul pearls must be in the small bag. That was one problem dealt with. "Thank you."  
  
Evan glanced at the floor, shuffling a little. "umm… this is sort of… well, we wanted to sort of ask a favor. Kitty's got her learner's permit, but she needs an adult in the car. Do you think… Could you maybe help her get some practice?"  
  
"You… want me to let Kitty drive somewhere so she can get the practice?" Something about this sounded entirely suspicious to him. "Well, I was thinking that I should take the remaining… well, to the hospital. In hopes of returning them."  
  
Kitty made this high pitched noise, almost a squeal, and gave him a quick hug. "Oh, that's no problem. I know where that is, I could take you there in like, five minutes!"  
  
Something felt entirely too easy about the whole thing, although Wesley didn't think that either Evan or Kitty meant him any particular ill will. Deciding that he simply wasn't used to coincidence working in his favor, he shook his head and tried to suppress his worries. "Let me just tell Ben and Sarah that they might need to close up the shop today, and then we can go."  
  
end part 14.  
  
Kitty was looking far too cheerful as they made their way to the parking area. Wesley held out the keys, a small part of him wanting to take them back, to insist that he should drive. "The silver car."  
  
He walked over, sitting in the passenger side, fastening the seatbelt as he tried to convince himself that he was just over reacting. "So, to the hospital."  
  
"Right." She just slipped into the drivers seat, passing through the door as if it were no more than a mirage. Kitty fumbled a bit as she adjusted the seat closer, and grinned triumphantly as she started the car. "And now to the hospital!"  
  
Kitty's foot must have stomped on the gas, judging from the way the tires squealed on the way out of the parking area. Her driving was… well, reckless might be putting it kindly. Speeding, lack of turn signals, accelerating to squeak through yellow lights… Wesley was now entirely certain why he'd been chosen as the adult victim. He wouldn't have known better. She also seemed quite determined to cheerfully ignore his half yelped cries of 'turn signals!', 'don't hit the pedestrians!', and 'slow down for the turns!'.   
  
Wesley was certain that it was a minor miracle they reached the hospital without having crashed or hit anybody. Slowly, he pried his fingers from the grip on the door, and turned to look at Kitty. "You do not drive like a chase scene from a movie. You do not drive like… some sort of video race. Return the keys."  
  
With a sigh, Kitty handed them over. "Nobody else has put it that way."  
  
"But nobody else seems to be willing to be the adult in the car as you drive, are they?" Wesley shot back, gripping the keys firmly in a numb hand. The other hand patted the soul pearls in one pocket of his jacket. "Now, it's time to go slipping into the rooms of unconscious people on life support."  
  
With a shiver, Kitty one more slipped out of the car, ignoring both the seat belt and the door. "Eeee. Not what I'd call a fun way to spend the afternoon."  
  
"It isn't for fun. But if we can find the other victims of that demon, it is our responsibility to return the souls to them if possible. It's not a question of fun, but of responsibility and basic decency." Wesley tried to explain it, hoping that he didn't sound hopelessly arrogant and pompous.  
  
"Responsibility, huh? I suppose that makes sense." Kitty sighed as they walked into the hospital.   
  
Reaching out to catch her elbow, Wesley just offered a polite nod to the volunteer at the desk and kept them moving right past, trying to act as if he was not only supposed to be here, but perfectly calm. Softly, he offered a bit of explanation to the girl. "We don't want to try to explain this. We can simply find the proper areas. Most likely Intensive Care."  
  
They had no trouble finding the area. Wesley carefully put the soul pearls into his hand, and began ducking into the rooms, peeking at them to see if anything would happen, uncertain quite how close he would need to be for the soul to return. It was actually quite depressing.  
  
In the third room, there was encouragement. A slender figure in a bed, a girl that couldn't have been much older than Kitty, with soft pale curls and a scattering of freckles. Colorful flowers surrounded her, making it clear that someone cared about this girl. AS Wesley moved towards her, one of the orbs suddenly felt warmer, and then it seemed to dissolve, with pearly wisps flowing from his hand to the girl on the bed, flowing into her mouth. She made a slight coughing noise, and her heart rate sped up.  
  
Wesley smiled, turning to leave the room. "I think the nurses should be able to handle things from here."  
  
"That was pretty neat. Watching the little… well, it was neat." Kitty looked excited. "Who's next? I mean… oh, right. We don't know."  
  
"No, we don't know. Perhaps if we keep checking all the rooms here, we might be able to find the others. Although… there is the chance that they may… they might have died." Wesley almost didn't want to voice the chance, but it was there.  
  
"Yikes. Do they, like, teach you how to yank the joy out of things at Watcher School, or whatever it's called?" Kitty gave an exaggerated shudder as they continued down the hall.  
  
"I went to Oxford. But the whole… yanking of joy came more from my father's influence, actually…" Wesley shook his head as they stepped into the next room, with a figure wrapped in bandages and another with several tubes and a cast on one leg. The souls remained hard spheres in his hand. "Neither of these people."  
  
The second pearl flared warm and practically raced out of his hand to slide into the painfully thin looking body of an old man. His body arced, and his eyes opened, a sort of wheezing noise emerging as the pale streaks poured into his body. There was the oddest feeling of urgency to the wisps, as if… well, the man did look very old.  
  
"He looks old… like older than dirt." Kitty's whisper was not entirely respectful, but a very accurate summary of the old man's appearance.  
  
One of the machines started beeping with a shrill, unpleasant noise. Footsteps started towards the room, rapidly moving. On the bed, the old man continued to make wheezing gasps, as if he was trying to get air and failing.  
  
Kitty grabbed Wesley's arm, and yanked him backwards, dragging him through the wall and into an empty lounge. A small refrigerator lurked in a corner, and a table had several napkins and a couple take out bags. "That was pretty close."  
  
In the other room, the shrill beeping took on a sudden monotonous tone, and Wesley winced. "Very close indeed."  
  
"umm…. Can we, like, try to find victim number three tomorrow? This place is sort of starting to freak me out." Kitty's question was soft, and sounded almost embarrassed.  
  
Wesley glanced at her, and slowly nodded. "We might as well. I confess that hospitals… they aren't my favorite places either."  
  
End part 15. 


	10. part 16

In the end, Wesley agreed to let Kitty drive back to the mansion. Not because he'd enjoyed the trip to the hospital at all, but simply because he dropped the keys four times as he stood beside the car. Apparently, he'd been a lot more shaken by the old man's death than he'd wanted to believe.  
  
Kitty's driving was actually much more restrained. She didn't go more than five miles over the speed limit, all four wheels remained in contact with the road at all times, no red or yellow lights were run, and she even remembered the turn signal – twice. Of course, she was muttering things to herself about 'pull yourself together' and 'it wasn't anything we did' the whole trip back, with both hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled stiffness.  
  
She took a few minutes to pull her hands from the wheel, and gave the keys back to Wesley. "Can you come in for a while? Maybe we can have Ororo fix us some tea or something."  
  
Part of Wesley wondered if that was truly wise, if he should accept the offer. While it did seem that there was something growing between himself and Ororo, was that strong enough to let her see him like this? Shaken and probably pale and all… well, rather a wreck inside? As an alternative, did he really feel that he could safely drive back home? Glancing at his own white knuckled hand, he decided that he would be safer in the mansion. "I think it might be best to go in for a while."  
  
It felt like it took a very long time to reach the doors, and when he tried to twist the doorknob, he couldn't seem to get a decent grip. Finally, Kitty reached over, taking hold of his sleeve, and simply stepped through the doors, pulling him along. Wesley felt a flash of relief mixed with embarrassment. He was a grown adult, he should be quite capable of using a simple doorknob… except that apparently he couldn't just now.  
  
"Evan did mention that they had somehow convinced you to take Kitty driving…" The Professor's voice held a trace of amusement and sympathy. "I've asked Ororo if she could prepare you something soothing. Chamomile, perhaps? Or maybe Peppermint if the trip has left you a bit carsick…"  
  
Kitty looked at the Professor, and in a soft voice spoke. "Two d… umm, two souls returned. Is she making enough for two?"  
  
The professor blinked, watching as Kitty shuffled out of the entry area, her arms sort of wrapped around herself. "That is most unusual… What happened?"  
  
Wesley felt the need to fidget, to do something other than just stand there. He settled for very carefully pushing his glasses a bit higher on his nose and then placing his hands in his pockets. "Evan came by my store earlier today, carrying the remaining three soul pearls and requesting a favor – that I be the licensed adult in the car for Kitty to drive. She took us to the hospital, fortunately without causing any accidents along the way, and we began making the rounds of the Intensive Care ward. My theory was that the… without the souls, the bodies would be… in a condition much like Ororo's, and therefore in the hospital on life support. The first was a girl, perhaps Kitty's age, with a great many flowers around her. The second… He was… he was very old. No sooner had the soul returned than… well… he… ahh… he died. Kitty was barely able to pull us through the wall into the neighboring lounge before the room was filled with nurses. It was… rather unsettling. I think perhaps that Chamomile would be rather welcome."  
  
The Professor looked rather surprised. "And here I thought you were just the latest unhappy victim of Kitty's driving. That's…"  
  
"Not something that's easy to deal with at any age. It's part of what makes us human, that uncomfortableness with death. With age and maturity come an intellectual understanding, and with time, grief from personal loss becomes a bit dulled, but death always carries a sting. That is one of the things that separates humanity from the demons." Wesley tried to put words to the mess of emotions and thoughts.  
  
"I hadn't thought of it quite like that before." The Professor was looking at Wesley, as if he'd just posed an unexpected question that not only showed he'd been following the assigned reading but thinking about the implications. "Is that something that your Watcher's training taught you?"  
  
"To an extent. It might be more accurate to say that it had broadened both my exposure to death and to the ways that people react to it. Those who care, those who possess that essential spark of humanity… it hurts. Even if it is only the inevitable result of time, it hurts. Those whom feel nothing… they either are among the soulless demons, or the most shriveled and ruthless of humans." Wesley watched the Professor, trying to observe the older man's reactions.   
  
"It's almost refreshing to have someone who uses humanity as a reference to both humans and mutants." There was a pause, and a small shudder. "Until I consider that while most people consider mutants to be the other option, you consider the inhuman to be just that – demons, creatures that are not and never were human. Down to the biological structure of their bodies and the fluid in their veins… That's still very unsettling to me."  
  
"It takes a while to adjust to the knowledge. You seem to be dealing with it fairly well so far." Wesley nodded, quite used to people being uncomfortable with the reality of demons.  
  
"hmm…. I think I could have quite contentedly not known that particular fact. Shall we go see about that Chamomile?" The Professor glanced up, his brows slightly lowered as if trying not to be disturbed and not quite succeeding.  
  
"That sounds very good. Please, lead the way. I'm not entirely certain where she would be." Wesley offered, still feeling nervous about facing Ororo while he was such a mess inside.  
  
End part 16. 


	11. parts 17 and 18 complete

Wesley followed the Professor into the kitchen, his uneasy thoughts churning inside him, and the final soul pearl a small lump in his pocket. He felt far too aware of it, with the sort of focus that would normally be reserved for a hot coal in his pocket, or perhaps a little like the bit of candy that he'd stolen when he was a small child – had he been four? Five? It had clattered and rattled and thumped against him until he'd managed to slip off and eat it, and he'd ended up with a stomach-ache. Probably more for the nerves than the sweet, but still... a soured memory.

There was a teakettle steaming cheerfully on the stove, and several small pots of herbs growing in the window. Ororo was just pulling down a mug from the cupboard as Wesley entered the room, making his first sight of her a cloud of white, with a bluish gray skirt emerging below and an expanse of arm rising above.

"Ororo, so good to see that we're just in time for tea." The Professor's voice sounded warm, almost like a half remembered television commentator from when Wesley was young. He'd hosted some historical show, and he'd had a big bushy mustache and a rounded red nose... But that wasn't important right now.

"Professor, Wesley." She was smiling as she turned around, eyes bright and shining. Did her smile grow a touch wider at the sight of Wesley? "I'm... glad to see you today."

"Good afternoon." Wesley felt like a tongue-tied idiot, groping wildly for something polite to say. Something other than 'you look like a goddess' or 'all things are better now that I've seen you'... and that sounded trite even in his own mind. "You look... lovely. Wonderful. Umm... shall I help with the tea?"

"Thank you. Could you put out the cream and sugar?" Her voice was soft, calm and flowing, like a stream.

Wesley realized that the Professor had faded from someone who'd raised an interesting point to mobile scenery to offset Ororo. Reminding himself to try not to become too focused on Ororo, Wesley nodded. "Yes, of course. Lemon?"

The Professor sounded almost amused as he accepted a cup of tea and wheeled himself out of the kitchen. "Why don't I just leave the two of you here to talk?"

Wesley could feel himself turning an unbecoming pink as he stared into the bottom of his cup. Had he truly been that obvious? His emotions verging on becoming an incomprehensible knot, he risked glancing up at Ororo. Everything seemed to be pushed back in order to allow himself the pleasure of noting the tiniest details of her, like the single short curl trying to escape along her temple and laying near her eye, or the way that her eyes weren't a single solid hue, but filled with flecks, some almost turquoise, others the color of lapis, and others darker still, nearly black.

"I... Wesley, you leave me feeling entirely off balance." Ororo's soft words carried a mingling of emotions – hope, uncertainty, dismay, pleasure...

"Well, at least I'm not the only one feeling like a handbook with instructions might be nice." The joke, feeble as it was, was the first thing other than bad poetic verses to come to his mind.

"But these are emotions, there are no guide books." She settled in the chair beside him, smiling as she held her teacup. "We must simply muddle through, I suppose. But perhaps... perhaps we don't have to be alone?"

Wesley smiled, feeling a great relief at her words. "Dear lady, you give me hope. You make me feel... so many things, among them a great awkwardness. I look at you and want to go out and slay dragons or something equally heroic and implausible, and at the same time... You are not a damsel in distress that needs a brave knight to keep her safe from the world. Or you inspire poetic comparisons, which would be much better if I had any skill with poetry. Sadly, I haven't the skill to write anything worth preserving. Ororo, you are lovely, serene, polished, and capable, and... I can't understand why you don't have people following you in droves."

"Perhaps because I am a mutant. Perhaps because I was once a thief... Perhaps because... because our lives here are not easy. They are filled with threat and danger, both from people who hate, and from other mutants. It is the sort of thing that can shatter any but the strongest relationships." Her voice was filled with regret and sorrow.

Wesley sipped at his tea in an effort to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. The near scalding heat of it seemed to peel away at the inside of his mouth, and he hastily added a bit more cream. "I am not afraid of your mutation. Perhaps a bit awed, but not afraid. As for adversity... it can shatter relationships. But it can also give them strength, forge strong bonds between hearts and minds... I admit that there are many things in the world that frighten me, and that, to an extent, the idea of falling in... of falling for someone is on that list. Significantly lower than an apocalypse, or... well, it's a fear for me. Love... Caring for someone can be wonderful or painful, depending on how they feel about you."

"Intrigued and... well, I suppose I'm a bit nervous." Ororo was glancing at him through her pale lashes. "Caring... it leaves you open, both to joy and pain. What if I'm not... what if I can't manage to have a successful relationship? Nothing in my life has been about..."

"Nothing prepared you for dealing with feelings?" Wesley smiled a little, relaxing a bit. Parts of the knot inside of him were loosening. "I feel much the same way. But... If we do not let ourselves care, something inside of us withers. Without caring, we don't live, we just exist."

"But caring can lead to pain. If things... go badly, or if something... if you were to be caught in the middle of something and injured, or died..." Ororo's whisper was soft, as if the words were slipping past some obstruction.

"Everyone dies eventually. Kitty and I.... We had a reminder of that today, at the hospital. Death... it is there, part of life. And it hurts, it stings. But..." Wesley groped for the words, as if he could somehow the right words together could explain everything.

"But you think that it's worth it? Worth the chance of pain and heartache?" One of her hands reached out, almost but not quite touching him. "You think it would be worth trying, even if..."

Leaning forward, Wesley brushed his lips over hers. "I think it would be worth the risk. I'm willing to try, willing to... well, possibly hide from the fighting, but to stand well back and offer moral support."

"And to maybe be right there with me?" Her voice was soft, her hand now cupped over his cheek. "To offer help in solving the tests and troubles of life, someone to lean on when I feel weary?"

"God, yes, I want to be there for you." The whisper slipped out.

Then her lips were on his again, a hint of lemon and a hint of cream flavoring the kiss. It seemed as if time itself stopped, allowing this moment to be savored. Not a fleeting brush of lips in the park, but something more. Not a passionate exploration, but... it was as if something was being offered, promised, and accepted all at once. As if this was the affirmation of something wonderful.

"It won't be easy." Her words were hesitant, as if she regretted the kiss ending. She was still there, her forehead resting on his, one hand on his cheek, the other on his shoulder.

"Few things worth having or doing are easy." Wesley could almost drown in her eyes. He was suddenly certain that when he died, hopefully many years from now, he wanted those glorious eyes to be his last sight.

End part 17.

"Of course, this makes you part of the family now. Part of this wonderful, chaotic, exasperating family that tries so very hard to make the future a little better, a little safer for all of us." Her smile made the words seem like the most delightful of accolades.

"Part of this group... part of a family by choice and goals and hopes instead of by birth." Wesley wondered if he could possibly be smiling as wide as it felt like his smile stretched. "There are certainly worse fates than that."

From the doorway came a rather unhappy noise, not quite a squawk or a 'hey!' but containing elements of both. There was also Kurt's accented "Alright Wesley! Way to go."

Glancing over, Wesley blinked at the beaming Kurt and the most likely embarrassed Evan – why else would he be standing there with his hand over his eyes, leaning against the doorway? He was probably blushing. "Does this make him my... what, my almost nephew?"

"More like both of them, actually." She was trying not to giggle, and almost succeeding.

"Yes! I get an uncle who vill let me play with the swords!" Kurt looked absolutely delighted, and vanished in a cloud of dark smoke, leaving a rather unpleasant stench in the air, like burnt matches or rotten eggs.

Evan's voice was less cheerful. "I'll just... go to the other room."

"Somehow, I think he was hoping that I'd just help you get better and then go away. Or at least, stay on the bare periphery of your life." Wesley sighed, wondering how difficult Evan would be about things. Evan seemed like a mostly good boy, a bit wild, but good-hearted. But how upset would he be at the idea of someone dating his aunt? Someone of such a completely different background?

"Well, he shall simply have to get used to the idea." Her soft declaration seemed to warm Wesley from the inside out.

"It might take a while for him to get used to the idea. I think he's still trying to understand that demons are real. It's hard for most people to accept. Honestly, things might be simpler if they were just strange looking mutants, but... life isn't easy, and there are far more and stranger things than are first apparent." Wesley sighed, feeling oddly hurt by Evan's reaction. It wasn't quite a surprise, and there really was no reason to expect Evan to be happy, but... Emotions wouldn't always listen to reason.

"Part of it is just... It will take a while for him to become used to the idea of me dating." She sighed once before looking up, a small amazed smile on her face. "I'm dating you."

"And I'm rather amazed by it myself." Wesley smiled back. "Not that I'm complaining. Change can be good."

Ororo just smiled, sighing contentedly at him as she slowly stood up, as if reluctant to part from their embrace. "Yes, some change can be good."

Wesley just took a moment to look at her, and allow himself to consider everything that had happened recently. He'd fought a demon, broken the news of the supernatural to a whole group of people, and restored four of five lost souls. And now, he had Ororo, sort of. They were going to try to form a relationship, hope that their differences could enable them to fit together instead of keeping them apart. He was now part of this group, part of a large, delightful, half mad family.

He hadn't intended to say anything, but when the words came out, they just felt so natural and true that he couldn't even wish to take them back. "I finally found a place where I might belong. Somewhere to feel welcome and accepted for myself, not my father, or my job, but just for Wesley."

"I rather like Wesley." Her soft words made him feel almost invincible.

For once, he was no longer on the edges of life. No longer simply watching and wishing to take part like those around him, but living it, enjoying life. Let the storms wash over him instead of just watching them flow through... And there was one Storm in particular that he wanted to be much closer to. Yes, life was full of risks, and there was pain, but it was worth it.

End part 18.

End Storm Watching.


End file.
